No Ordinary Bloke Read online

  Other Books by Mary Whitney

  Beside Your Heart Series

  Beside Your Heart (Book #1)

  Disclosure of the Heart (Book #2)

  Forever Your Heart (Book #3)

  Heart Series Box Set

  More than Rivals

  A Very Important Guest

  Compromising Positions

  A Politcal Affair

  To Enn Bocci because she wanted to hear David’s story.

  Are we born lucky or do we create our own as we go along? So far, life has taught me it’s a bit of both. I’m not a philosophical kind of bloke, but I know something about luck. A childhood on the wrong side of advantage will teach you that. I'm an investment banker which makes me a gambler by nature. Luck is in every sense a matter of chance. It’s both the circumstances the universe has decided for you and the chances you take as you make your way through life.

  When I met Allison Wright, the fates were on my side, but I soon learned that the odds were against me.

  “Hush, hush, Little V,” I said as I cradled my niece. Trying to calm her wails, I pointed out of the expansive glass window. “Look out there. Do you see that big plane? You’re going on that soon with your mum and dad.”

  Darling thing didn’t know what an airplane was. She clenched her eyes tighter and let out a screeching cry. To my right, I heard a male American accent say, “Do you mind?”

  Rather than turning to the guy, I turned my head to the left as I bit my tongue. Normally, I’d go off at a jerk like him, but this wasn’t the place. As I looked to the side, I caught sight of a beauty of a redhead, some twenty feet away but looking at me as she spoke on her phone. She was nodding as she listened to the phone, and I wanted to get a better look at her so I smiled. Her lips began to turn up in a warm expression, but then as if she thought better of it, she turned on her heel and walked away.

  Then Little V screeched again, probably complaining that I’d paid attention to someone other than her. As her screams rose through the room, the American voice said, “Can’t you make her stop? I’m trying to work.”

  The arsehole left me little choice. I turned to him and said, “And who the fuck are you?”

  Wearing ridiculous flip-flops and a T-shirt, the twat had a shiny laptop resting on his knees as he lounged in his seat. He had to be one of those twenty-five-year-old tech millionaires who thought rules and manners didn’t apply to him. I worked with that sort all the time. I liked their money, but I hated dealing with such wankers.

  He stared me down. “I’m a paying customer in the British Airways first class lounge. That’s who I am.”

  “Well, so is she. She’s probably going to be on your flight and in first class, and I hope she screams there as well.”

  “Brats like that should be in the back of the plane. I expect some quiet.” He crossed his arms as if he was as entitled as the bloody King of England.

  I bounced Veronica some more as her cries grew louder, and I took a step toward the jerk. “Do you think the whole fucking world revolves around you? It’s a good thing I’m holding this baby, right now.” I looked him up and down. I was a good foot taller and definitely in better shape. “I could take out your sorry arse.”

  “David!” My cousin Adam’s voice rose from behind me. He’d obviously caught part of the conversation because he was at my side at once. Holding out his hands, he said, “Let me take her. Nicki’s at the bar. Let’s go and get a pint.”

  “All right,” I said, hating to back down from a fight. A pint didn’t sound too bad at the moment though, so I gently handed Veronica over to her dad. Still I wasn’t going to let the American get away with his behavior. I nodded to the earphones hanging around the git’s neck. “If you want silence in a public place, put on your damn earphones.”

  Forever the gentleman’s gentleman, Adam smiled to the sorry bugger. “Pardon us.”

  As Adam and I walked away, he whispered harshly, “Jesus Christ, David. You’re thirty-eight and a senior vice-president of one of the largest investment firms in the bloody world. What are you doing picking fights like you’re still a teenager on the streets of the East End?”

  I snorted and walked a little more proudly. “You can take the boy out of the Leytonstone, but you can’t take the Leytonstone out of the boy…”

  “Look at where you are,” he said, gesturing around the posh lounge, not the normal dodgy waiting areas at Heathrow.

  “Bollocks. He was insulting my niece.”

  “She’s my daughter, and I wouldn’t cause a fist fight over her.”

  I grinned. “Aw, cuz. That’s only because you’re Viscount Kincaid. You can’t take him on. This is just one of the reasons why it’s good to have me around.”

  “And what’s another?”

  I jerked my head toward the petite brunette sitting at the bar with a big smile for us. “Well, you wouldn’t have Nicki without me.”

  “Not that again…”

  “The truth hurts, my friend.”

  When we reached the bar, Nicki already had three pints lined up for us. She kissed Adam on the cheek, and reaching for her daughter, she said, “Aw, my girl. It’s okay.” Veronica’s cries stopped at once. Nicki turned to us happily. “What’s going on with y’all?”

  Occasionally, her Texas twang would escape her, and it always made me smile. “Nothing really. Thank you for the beer.”

  Adam laughed. “Nothing except David’s threatening other passengers on our flight.”

  I took a drink and waggled my finger. “But I’m not on your flight so it doesn’t matter.”

  “Thankfully,” said Adam.

  “I’m dreading the six hours ahead of us, but David …” Nicki cringed. “Thirteen hours to Singapore sounds miserable.”

  “Travel is a fact of life for me.” I sat my glass on the counter. “Doesn’t bother me so much anymore. I keep busy, or I sleep.”

  “What do you do? Watch movies?” she asked.

  “Yes. I read a lot as well.” I stood a little straighter and gave her a sly look. “Chat up the flight attendants if they’re pretty.”

  Nicki’s voice dropped. “You hit on flight attendants? That’s so cliché.”

  Adam smiled. “It guarantees him a woman in every port.”

  “Or on every plane,” I said and gave Nicki a wink.

  “And on that note,” Nicki said, completely unimpressed, and turned to Adam. “One of us gets to change Veronica before the flight. Who is it going to be?”

  Adam took another sip of beer. “You go ahead. I’ll handle the blow out on the plane. She’s bound to have one.”

  “That’s a deal,” said Nicki, grabbing her bag.

  As she walked away, I took her barstool and said to Adam, “Changing nappies. What’s that like?”

  “Boring.” He wrinkled his nose. “And often disgusting, but necessary. I hear the boys piss all over you if you’re not careful.”

  I imagined a tiny pecker spraying piss in my face. “Blimey.”

  Just then about ten feet away, the profile of that lovely redhead caught my eye again. I always loved a redhead, so I sat taller in my seat to check her out. Her dark red hair was medium length, resting in loose curls on her shoulders. Her skin looked ivory, but with freckles all over her delicate cheekbones. Moving down her body, I saw she wore a well-tailored dress shirt buttoned up respectably, but not without showing off the silhouette of her nice-sized breasts. Her waist was small in a fitted suit skirt. I watched a sweet smile appear on her lips as she accepted a martini from the barman.

  I looked at Adam and then nodded over to her. “She’s a beauty.”

  Adam glanced over. He was a happily married man, but he was still a man. “Indeed.”

  “I’d like to get to know
her…”

  “Get to know her?” Adam asked with a scornful laugh.

  I grinned. “Well, I’d like to shag her as well, but even I’ve got to start somewhere. It’s not all wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am. Normally, I do talk to them for at least a few minutes.”

  “Such restraint.” He leaned to the side to get another look at her. “You’ve always liked redheads.”

  I watched as she took her drink to one of the giant leather chairs and sat down by her fancy briefcase. I sighed. “Yes, red is my favorite color.”

  “So tell me about your trip,” said Adam. It sounded like he wanted a change of subject.

  Ogling the redhead would have to continue later, if she was around. I turned back to Adam. “Meeting with our local office and sweating my arse off.”

  Adam and I talked for the next half hour, with Nicki and Veronica joining us not long before they were about to board. When it was time to say goodbye, I wanted it over quickly. I was a closet sap who hated goodbyes, though I didn’t choke up with the two of them. Nicki and Adam traveled to Washington a lot for their work, so I should’ve been used to goodbyes by now. I think Little V made them harder for me.

  Nicki gave me a playful slap on the back as she hugged me. “Do me a favor. Can you skip the flight attendants and look for a good woman?”

  “I’ll think about it,” I said without a bit of sincerity.

  Adam gave me a punch in the arm. “Visit us in Scotland. We’ll be back from D.C. in a couple of weeks.”

  “Will do.” I leaned around to see Veronica as she rested her head on Adam’s shoulder. Her brilliant blue eyes were agog as she stared at the bright lights and happily gnawed on her fist. I kissed her forehead. “Goodbye V. I’ll miss you, little one. Be good for your parents.”

  She gurgled and gave me a toothless grin before returning her fist to her mouth. I smiled back the lump in my throat. God, why did she affect me so?

  As they left me at the bar, I ordered another pint and dealt with a few work emails and texts on my phone. After a while, I stretched and surveyed the lounge area when a flash of red hair caught my eye. It was my redhead, sitting on a sofa not far away.

  She hadn’t boarded Nicki and Adam’s flight, so where was she going? New York? Paris? She seemed too chic to be American, but her hands were too manicured to be French. The hair was too red to be German. Where was she from? I studied her again and had a hunch.

  After downing the rest of my beer, I walked over to my redhead. I casually jingled the few pence in my trouser pocket as I made my way toward her. I eyed her as I walked, noticing she had her legs crossed, but slanted to one side. They were in a dark stockings, but very shapely. My eyes moved on, though, to the important place—her hand. Would there be a ring on it to ruin my day? When I was close enough to see both hands, I smiled. Nary a ring to be had.

  Her head was down as she stared at her phone, reading something I couldn’t see. The free chair beside her looked welcoming enough, so I took the seat next to her. She flinched as the movement disrupted her concentration, and after a glance at me, she gave me the quickest of half smiles and went back to her phone.

  “Hello,” I said.

  She raised her head again and gave me a barely audible “Hi.”

  It was the sort of bland greeting that would make some men retreat. Not me. I didn’t back down with women or in business without a damn good reason, so I responded to her just like she’d batted her eyelashes and given me a cheery hello. I grinned. “So I was wondering what county you’re from.”

  She squinted in confusion. “County?”

  “With that beautiful red hair, I assume you’re Irish.”

  “I am,” she said, a smile slowly forming.

  “So where are you from?” She’d said so little I couldn’t yet detect an accent to place her.

  “Chickasaw County.”

  Either she’d mumbled, or she had the strangest Irish accent from a part of Ireland I’d never heard of. “Pardon?”

  Her green eyes twinkled a bit, and she enunciated her words. “Chickasaw County. It’s in Iowa.”

  Now her American accent was impossible to miss, especially if you were expecting her to sound like a Dubliner. I nodded and smiled. “Iowa?” I knew nothing about Iowa, except that it was farm country and most likely called a “fly-over” state by my New York friends. I thought better than to mention it, though, because I’d once called Texas a fly-over state to Nicki, and she slugged me in the arm.

  My redhead smiled. “I’m American.”

  “Now, you told me you were Irish. Why did you tell me a fib?”

  “I’m Irish-American. Why didn’t you recognize my lack of an Irish accent?”

  “You’d barely said three words to me.” I chuckled. “But now that I hear you, I would never guess you were Irish.”

  “And what do you think of my accent?” She lifted her eyes to me.

  “I work with Americans every day. I’d say it was pretty non-descript, though your voice is lovely.”

  “Thanks,” she said under her breath.

  Not wanting our conversation to end, I pointed to the line of giant planes out the window. “So where are you headed today?”

  “Singapore.”

  Thank you, Jesus. The Good Lord probably wasn’t looking out for my sex life, but a stroke of luck like this deserved some recognition. Though I began to envision steamy nights at a posh hotel in Singapore, my response was matter-of-fact. “So am I. What’s taking you there?”

  “Work.” She gave me a sly look. “And you?”

  “The same.” Things were going smoothly so far, so I extended my hand. “My name is David Bates.”

  She eyed my waiting hand warily, but soon offered her own, albeit with a circumspect voice. “Hello. I’m Allison Wright.”

  Her hand was soft, warm, and small in my own. It made me think the rest of her would feel the same way. But I never let a handshake linger like a pervy salesman so I withdrew my hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Allison.”

  I was just about to ask what line of work she was in, but she nodded toward the window. “I thought I saw you earlier with a baby. Does your family travel with you?”

  So that was why she was so cautious. She thought I was married with a kid. I appreciated her hesitancy. Marital status didn’t seem to matter to many folks any more, but it did to me. I didn’t have a problem breaking in on a boyfriend/girlfriend situation, but I wouldn’t touch a married woman. There were plenty of fish in the sea—no need to bust up a family or risk the wrath of God for a shag. I couldn’t have her thinking that of me. “My family? Well, I was with my family, although not immediate family and not family traveling with me. I was holding my niece.”

  A wrinkle of confusion appeared on the otherwise smooth skin of her forehead. “So the baby wasn’t yours?”

  “No, I don’t have any kids. She’s my cousin’s daughter.” And just to make things perfectly clear, I added, “I’m not married.”

  “Oh.” She was quiet for a second like she was wondering whether or not to believe me. I gave her my earnest puppy eyes, which seemed to work. She smiled and said, “Your cousin’s daughter? Then she’s really not your niece.”

  “Ah, you caught me. Adam’s like a brother to me, so I think of Veronica as my niece. She knows me as Uncle David.”

  “Uncle David? But really, you and Veronica are cousins—first cousins, once removed to be exact.”

  “Is that so?” I looked again at the fine leather bag at her side. She must’ve been born into some money. “Not the sort of thing a commoner like me keeps up with.”

  She laughed at that. “Well, I’m an American. I think by definition that makes me a commoner.”

  My eyes rested on her Cartier watch. “Are you now? I think I’ll be the judge of that. What do your dad and mum do for work?”

  “Farmers.”

  “Really? But farms come in all sizes. You could be one of those Americans who own a ranch the size of Scotland.”

&
nbsp; “Well, the Wright farms are small.” She laughed. “I come from a long line of Irish farmers, just scraping by—first in the north of Ireland and then Iowa. We’re a big family, so that’s why I know what a first cousin once removed is.”

  I focused on her for a moment. With that tidbit of information, I could ignore the fancy clothes and fine jewelry and instead see a farm girl. Her eyes were green like a fresh field with her hair as bright as the sun. “Is that so? But you’ve moved off the farm.”

  “I did…a while ago.” Her eyes narrowed. “And what exactly is common about you? Except for your voice maybe.”

  “Me accent is a dead giveaway, ain’t it?” I said, hamming up the cockney that my voice still carried from my youth. I’d learned at university to turn it on and off depending on the situation, but my natural speaking voice remained in my East London roots.

  “I think. I’m not an expert on English accents, but you don’t sound like Prince Charles.”

  “Thank fuck for that. He’s a tosser.”

  Her mouth dropped open before she erupted with the most adorable giggle. I smiled in appreciation because she wasn’t one of those American girls who blanched every time a man swore. Don’t get me wrong—that didn’t stop me from making a move, but girls became more attractive if you could be yourself around them. When she stopped laughing, she asked, “So what kind of work is your family in?”

  I tapped my armrest two times—the only sign that showed though I’d asked the same question of her, I didn’t like being asked it myself. I dispensed with it quickly. “Carpentry, but me mum was a teacher.”

  She glanced at my suit, cut by my tailor on Savile Row. “But you’ve done well for yourself? What is it that you do?”

  “International finance at Barclays.” No need to add my title. “And you?”

  “Really? I’m in human resources at Greystone.”

  I raised a brow. Depending on the deal, Greystone was often a competitor or partner. I knew a great many people there, though no one with an internal job like personnel. “How is it that you got into employee relations?”

  “It seemed like a good use of a psychology degree.”